The Weight of a Name
by helloalexwinn
Summary: "He says her name while he's asleep." Steve/Sharon
1. Chapter 1

This is just a bit of fun I had with these characters, trying to find their personalities and adequately represent my interpretations of them (I think the length shows how much fun I had). As far as timeline goes, I imagine this after Civil War but before the Infinity Wars start, and in this piece the Avengers have reunited before Thanos comes to wreck havoc (I don't think this is how it'll play out in the MCU, and it's not necessarily how I want it to play out, but for the purpose of the story, this is how it works). So, in my head, they've been dating a year or so. Also, I like the idea of Tony being Sharon's pseudo older brother. It makes sense. Lastly, I'm already working on part 2, and hopefully I'll have it up soon.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel and the MCU. I own nothing.

* * *

He says her name while he's asleep.

"Peggy."

Sharon's heart stops. Her lungs stop. Her brain stops. Every cell in her body shuts down because her _boyfriend_ , who she _loves_ , just said another girls name in bed. And even though it wasn't during sex, it's still her Aunt Peggy who he's dreaming of, and that's somehow worse. Aunt Peggy, who she _worshipped_ as a child, who's one of the few people Sharon loves unconditionally, who told her stories about Captain America.

She should've expected something like this. Oddly enough, it's not the first time this has happened. One of her previous boyfriends had called her Peggy once because he idolized the founder of SHIELD so much. Still, she'd hoped Steve wouldn't do this. At the same time, she can't blame him, either, because he'd known Aunt Peggy personally. He'd loved her and she'd loved him — Sharon had pieced that together from all the stories. Aunt Peggy loved Uncle Daniel, too, but Steve Rogers always had a place in her heart. Apparently, she has a place in his, one that Sharon could never touch.

She hasn't slept in 48 hours, and her body is screaming for sleep, but Sharon knows she won't be able to. She slips out of bed, quiet as a wraith, and pads her way into the kitchen, where she sits on a barstool, folds her arms, rests her head, and tries to hold herself together.

She doesn't sleep all night.

* * *

Steve finds her there shortly after dawn the next morning.

Still awake, Sharon looks up when he walks in, forcing a smile to her face. He's wearing a CIA shirt (a gag gift from her, because she has plenty of his shirts, Captain America and otherwise, and he needs at least one representing her work), and his hair is still wild from sleep and their night together, and Sharon's mind reminds her that even though he was moaning her name last night, in his dreams he was saying Peggy's. It takes effort to keep the smile on her face, even though it's nowhere near convincing.

"You okay?" Steve asks, because he's Steve and that's what he does. She knows that he's watching her carefully, waiting for a response, trying to figure out what's _off_. It's not hard to guess that something's off — Sharon's never up before him, and even if that did happen, she certainly wouldn't have left the bed to come sit on a barstool. The smile slips from her face.

"Fine," she says, because it's all she can force herself to say.

Steve hums as he grabs the coffee pot, a sound of clear disbelief. "You got up early this morning," he comments. "Very early."

"Couldn't sleep," Sharon says, because it's true and if there's one thing Steve demands it's honesty. "I didn't want to wake you with my tossing and turning."

"And sitting at the barstool was your brilliant idea? Not, say, the couch?" Heat rushes to her cheeks, but Sharon isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. "Sharon," Steve says, his tone considerably softer, as if he's realized he's struck a nerve and remembered that the best way to get her to talk is to keep her calm, "you could've stayed in bed with me. You know I don't mind you tossing and turning all night. And if you did I could've tried to help you fall asleep." He smiles at her, a flirty, dirty one reserved for her. "I've done it before."

This time it's definitely embarrassment in her veins, even if it's him and they've done a million things together a million times. "I know, Steve," Sharon says, because she does know that if she'd stayed he would've helped her fall asleep. But this isn't one of those times where she can't sleep simply because she can't. He said Aunt Peggy's name and there's a horror in that that Sharon's spent all night trying to justify, minimize, erase. "But you just got back from your mission and even you need sleep."

"So do you."

Sharon waves a dismissive hand. "I'm not out in the field right now," she says. "I can be tired while doing paperwork."

"And what if you find a lead?" Steve asks, irritation creeping into his voice. "What if you have to leave tonight for an op? Or in an hour?"

"Today _is_ my day off. So if they call me in I'll be pretty annoyed."

"We don't get time away from these jobs, Sharon," he snaps. "So I'll ask again. What if you had to leave for an op tonight, running on no sleep?"

Sharon glowers. "I've been on ops where I haven't slept in well over 48 hours."

"That's not the point!" Steve's glaring at her, his jaw set and his muscles tense. She's only seen him this angry a few times, but it's never been directed at her. Even when they'd argued about moving in together and he'd been pissed off at her snide remarks and weak excuses, he hadn't been this angry. This was worry over some scenario he'd imagined bleeding into anger fueled by her snide remarks. This was panicking over the what if's that hadn't happened yet.

"I'm okay, Steve," Sharon says quietly, shoulders slumping, cutting him off before his tirade can continue. "I'm tired but I can't sleep right now. I've got too much on my mind. But I'm okay."

His muscles are still tense, but his voice is less irritated when he says, "You know you can tell me anything."

Sharon tries to smile, but it's still hard. "I know," she says. "But I can't talk about it right now. I need to get through it on my own first."

"We agreed to work things out together," Steve reminds her. She remembers making this promise with him, this vow to look at problems and find a solution they could reach together. Their days of fighting solo were done, so to speak. They were a team, and teams communicated with each other. Sharon sighs, hopping off her barstool and walking around the counter so that she's standing before him.

"I know," Sharon murmurs, wrapping her arms around Steve's waist. She's grateful that he wraps his arms around her in return immediately. "It's just one of those situations I don't know how to approach you with. You know me, Steve. You know that I've always been a runner in these situations, that it took me forever to leave my soap in your shower and to say 'I love you' even though I knew it for weeks. I'm trying not to run right now. I swear I'll talk to you about it the moment I know how to."

Oddly, Steve looks even more on edge. Speeches aren't really Sharon's thing, and she's just given him a long winded reason for not telling him what he wants to know rather than telling him outright. It probably didn't help that she'd reminded him she was a runner. Now he was going to be even more watchful.

"Okay," Steve says at length. His lips are warm against her forehead — she's too tall for him to rest his head comfortably on top of hers, but Sharon doesn't mind, even if it would be cute — and she knows that even though he's relenting, he's still on edge. Omission isn't exactly lying, but it's not communicating fully, either. "Okay. We'll talk about it soon, then," he pauses, pulling away to look her in the eyes. "Tony's party is tonight, but we can stay here if you want. Relax, order take out, watch a couple movies. Or, well, I could go by myself and give you some time alone to collect your thoughts and all."

It doesn't take a genius to know that that isn't the option Steve wants. There's fear in his eyes, tucked in a corner, surrounded by the worry and hurt that still hasn't left.

"No, we can still go. I haven't seen Tony in forever, anyway. Or Nat."

"You're sure?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

* * *

The car ride is quiet, which is odd for them. They pick up Sam on the way, and while he frequently tries to make conversation, it always falls flat when it's Sharon's turn to speak. She and Steve may have reached an agreement, but that hasn't stopped her from being locked in her mind all morning, constantly thinking _Peggy, Peggy, Peggy_ and trying not to panic when the voice in her head was Steve's and the tone became more sensuous. Had he said it like that last night? Had he said _Peggy_ the way he says _Sharon_ when she's doing something particularly pleasing? Or had he said _Peggy_ like she was the center of his universe? Had he ever said _Sharon_ like that? Had he ever _thought_ of her like that?

"Sharon?" Steve asks (concerned, not center of the universe tone), reaching back to touch her leg. His eyes keep flicking between her and the road, the question ever present, but he doesn't ask. Sam, however, hasn't gotten the memo.

"You okay, Sharon?" he asks, his eyes focused solely on her. They haven't technically known each other that long — they'd only met once or twice before she and Steve announced they were dating — yet they can read each other better than most can. Perhaps it's the nature of the business, because espionage and avenging both rely on flawless teamwork and the ability to communicate without speaking, or perhaps it's their close ties to one Captain America and the unspoken bond they have to protect him. Hell, maybe they just get each other.

"Yeah," Sharon says, faking a tired smile. "Just have a lot on my mind."

"Obviously," Sam says, laughing. "We were trying to find somewhere to eat and you didn't say anything at all."

The smile feels less fake. "Please tell me you guys chose something good. And by good I don't mean kale shakes and spinach salads."

"No," Steve says, smiling a little. "But we are stopping at one on the ride back."

It eases her heart just a little to see him smile, even though the thought that immediately follows is, _How many times did he smile at Aunt Peggy with that same smile?_ It's painful to keep the fake smile on her face, but Sharon tries, and thinks of a witty comeback, and hopes that she pulls it off.

"Not if I drive."

* * *

The diner they pick is perfect. Old fashioned, with tile floors and a jukebox and burgers and milkshakes. Sharon loves places like this — they remind her of her childhood, of dancing to old songs with Tony and dipping fries into strawberry shakes with Aunt Peggy.

It takes a bit of effort, but Sharon fights the wave of nausea that comes with thinking about Aunt Peggy. She hates the doubt that's in her mind, the fear of where Steve's heart truly lies. Yesterday she wouldn't have doubted Steve in any way — he was good, honorable, and honest. He was passionate and loving, and he never hesitated to make her feel special. When they were together, she knew she was the center of his world.

But what about when they weren't together? And there was still a massive difference between center of the world and center of the universe.

"We've lost her again," Sam says, pulling Sharon from her thoughts. Steve and Sam are both watching her, Sam with open curiosity and a little worry, Steve looking far more pensive. His brows are drawn together, his eyes squinted ever so slightly, his mouth pressed into a thin line. She loves this look on him, thinks its adorable even though half the time when he wears it he's thinking of something bad that happened. Maybe that's why she loves it — she loves to kiss it away.

"I'm good," Sharon says, smiling and leaning into Steve's side. The pensive look is still present, but he at least wraps his arm around her. "I was just really caught up in this place. I love diners. I used to come all the time with my aunt."

"Peggy?" Steve asks, and even though it's innocent and pure curiosity, a lump larger than the sun lodges itself in Sharon's throat, making speech impossible. She nods, trying to smile, trying to pull off an 'I really miss her' expression, the weight of Peggy's name pressing on her heart.

It was so much easier when Sharon could think about how much she missed Aunt Peggy, think of their time together and not think about how Steve dreamt about her. Yesterday feels like a thousand years ago, and the rest of her life will never be the same.

"I can see that," Steve says after a minute. "Peggy — she was something else."

Steve launches himself into stories about Peggy and Bucky and the Howling Commandos. The way he talks about everyone, a person would think they were the only ones fighting in the war. He barely stopped when the waitress came to take their order, politely asking for two cheeseburgers before continuing on. He was still telling stories after their food arrived, talking between bites and looking happier than Sharon had ever seen him. Sam listened intently to every word out of Steve's mouth, smiling and laughing constantly, and Sharon, well.

Sharon focused on holding herself together. She tried to pretend she was as enraptured in Steve's stories as Sam was, but the problem was that she'd heard them from Aunt Peggy before and hearing Steve's side was great and all, but it made everything _real_. Because now it wasn't hearing stories about Captain America and Aunt Peggy's time in the war. It was hearing stories _from_ Captain America about the war, and what Aunt Peggy had done and how much she'd influenced his life. It was like there were two parts of Steve — the part during the war and the part in the future. And while Sharon could be part of the future, she could never, ever replace the woman he'd loved during the war.

She barely touches her plate.

Sharon's pushing a fry around in her ketchup when Steve stops his story telling and goes to pay for the check. Sam tries to offer to pay, but he doesn't put much effort into it — Sharon knows because she's seen the two nearly come to blows before arguing about who would cover the tab (often, if it got too bad, Sharon would pay the tab herself while they were too busy arguing, though it never fully worked because she'd always find a wad of bills in her purse that was double the tab) — and Sharon preps herself for the oncoming interrogation.

It starts the second Steve's out of earshot.

"What'd he do?" Sam asks, leaning across the table. "I can't really beat him up, but I can try dropping him in a pond."

"It's nothing."

"It sure as hell isn't nothing. What do you need me to do?"

"There's nothing you can do, Sam," Sharon says, eyeing Steve near the door. Another minute at most. "It's complicated and I'm trying to figure it out and every time I start to come to terms with it I make it worse for myself. So there's nothing you can really do."

"You're freaking him out. And you're kind of freaking me out. Are you sure you don't want me to push him in Tony's pool? Would that help?"

The smile's a little less fake this time. "Sadly, it wouldn't solve anything," Sharon says, glancing at Steve. "He's about to come back."

"Anything I can do?"

"Talk to him," Sharon says. "Don't include me."

* * *

Steve tries to get coax her into the conversation a few times during the car ride, but Sam always finds a way to give her an out. Sharon makes a note to get him a present for it later.

"Good to see you, everyone," Tony says as they step off the elevator in Avengers Tower. "Especially you, Sharon. You're such a stranger these days."

Another attempt at a smile, another reminder of how many times she's faked it today. "Sorry, Tony."

Alarm passes through Tony's eyes, his instilled older brother senses tingling. Though he and Steve have been doing better since their blowout, their partnership is still a bit uneasy. Thanos is a threat waiting to strike, and while they agreed to reunite all of the Avengers so when he does come they're prepared and a team, Sharon knows Tony hasn't quite forgiven him for not telling him about Bucky and his parents, and Steve, likewise, hasn't fully forgiven Tony for not giving Wanda a choice. Parties like these have helped ease the tensions, as has fighting side by side, but they're a long way from where they were.

And tonight, Sharon isn't helping that recovery.

"What did Captain Perfect Teeth do?" Tony asks, pulling Sharon off to the side after a few more pleasantries and basically throwing Maria to chat with Steve and Sam. She can already see that he's thinking a thousand things, each one worse than the last, trying to find the cause of her pain and the appropriate level of anger to use against Steve because of it. "Hitting girls isn't his style, he's too much of a gentleman, but maybe if he was drunk — there's no telling what a drunk person will do — was he drunk? How did he even get drunk? Did he —"

"He wasn't drunk, Tony," Sharon interrupts before all of the theories can explode. "He didn't do whatever you're thinking he did, either."

"But he did do something."

"It's complicated."

Tony throws his arms open wide. "As your pseudo but totally awesome older brother, I demand you tell me what's wrong. Otherwise the theories will explode and I'll have to install cameras in your apartment to make sure he isn't hurting you."

"You think that's a good idea, Tony?" Sharon asks, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, maybe Steve and I could give you some ideas for when you're with Pepper…"

"Stop that now," Tony says. "I don't need to know anything about my friend or my fake sister's sex life, I revoke the camera idea." Tony pauses, head tilting with a new idea. "Or maybe I'll have FRIDAY skip those parts — like if something looks like it's going _there_ she'll skim over it until it's safe again. There's an idea." "You're not putting cameras in our apartment, Tony."

"Watch me."

"I'll tell Pepper."

"I think she'd agree to it if it means making sure you're okay."

"What are you two arguing about?" Steve asks, wandering over. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and Sharon gets the distinct impression that he's been watching them since Tony pulled her aside. The question is, how much as he heard?

"Nothing," Sharon says at the same time Tony demands, "What did you do to my baby sister?"

If she loved him any less, murdering him wouldn't be difficult in the slightest.

Even so, it's a tempting option.

"Wish I knew," Steve says, face serious. "But she isn't ready to tell me yet, and it's killing me, but I respect her choice." There's an implication behind his words, a warning for Tony: _You shouldn't push her, either_.

"Well," Tony says after several moments of silence. "Whatever you did, don't mess it up any further. Sharon deserves someone who doesn't make her upset."

She almost argues that any healthy relationship has their ups and downs, and that if anyone in their relationship is undeserving it's her because Steve's Captain freaking America and nobody could ever compare to him. But she doesn't get to speak before Steve says, "Believe me, I know it."

* * *

"What happened?" Natasha says, coming to stand beside Sharon at the bar. The best thing about Natasha is her bluntness, but sometimes it's the worst, too. Sharon eyes her, debating whether or not she could get away with a lie. The way Nat's eyes narrow tells her that's a hard _no_.

"He said Peggy's name last night," Sharon mumbles around the edge of her glass and a sip of gin and tonic.

"Please tell me not during sex."

"No!" Sharon says immediately, nearly spitting out her drink. "No, no. While he was sleeping. I kind of wish it'd been during sex, though. Then I'd actually have a reason to be mad at him, and he'd know what he'd done."

"Are you mad at him?"

Sharon shakes her head. "I'm just… I'm hurt right now. I'm trying not to panic and run like I always do. I'm trying to come to terms with it because it probably won't be the last time. But isn't that worse? He wants me to be _her_ , Nat. And I could deal with it so much better if it was anyone else, but it's _Aunt Peggy_. It's so awkward and fucked up. He's thinking about her, dreaming about her, while I'm right beside him. I grew up with stories about him and her during the War, and I get that he loves her and I know that she loved him just as much, but still. She moved on with Uncle Daniel and I thought Steve was moving on by dating me. I thought Steve saw — I thought he saw me instead of her." A pause, a breath, a reminder to hold herself together. "That's stupid. I'm stupid. Nobody's ever seen me without seeing Aunt Peggy. And Steve knows Aunt Peggy. God. I should've expected this, right? I'm an idiot."

There are tears in her eyes, but she's Sharon Carter, and she doesn't do the whole emotions in front of people thing. It took her forever to get used to emotions in front of Steve, and she's still not exactly comfortable. She will not break here.

"Okay, come here," Nat says, dragging her away. "First and foremost, we're going somewhere more private to let you cry and calm down. Then we're going to figure out what to do."

"I don't want to cry and calm down," Sharon says, tugging on Nat's arm. "I'm good. I'm solid."

"Like hell you are, Agent," Nat says, pulling her more forcefully. "Let's go."

"Sharon?" Steve asks, coming over before Nat can take her away. Sharon smiles a little, though it's more from relief that Nat won't be able to kidnap and interrogate her than joy over seeing Steve. Not that she isn't happy to see him — her heart always flutters a little when he's around — but today's been hell all because he said Peggy. "You okay?"

"I'm doing better than earlier," she admits, boldly wrapping an arm around his waist. Steve smiles a little as he reciprocates, but he isn't at ease. He hasn't been at ease all day.

"Nat?" he asks, glancing at their red-headed friend. "Can you give us a minute?"

Nat's eyes flicker between the two for a moment before she smiles, says, "Of course," and darts away.

"Now," Steve says, trapping her in his arms, "be honest. Are you okay?"

She hates the words 'be honest.' Honesty is important to Steve, given all the lies he's been told before and after the ice (she's responsible for some of those lies. She doesn't like to think about it), so Sharon is typically honest with him. The problem is that in times like this, when she doesn't want to worry him more than she already has, when she's trying to come to terms with something on her own, the phrase 'be honest' makes any omission feel like a lie. Sharon hates it.

"You said you'd let me come to you when I was ready," she says instead.

"I know," Steve says, but he looks upset to say it. "But that wasn't my question. I asked if you were okay."

Damn him and his eyes. Damn him and his ability to make her feel guilty even when she has the right to be upset. Damn him and his concern.

"I'm not," Sharon admits, resting her head against his shoulder. "The thing I'm upset about — it's complicated. I hate it but I have to accept it and accepting it is really difficult."

"It's something I did, isn't it?" Steve asks, and she doesn't have to look to know his eyebrows are scrunched together (adorably). Sharon nods. "If you tell me what it is, I can stop doing it. Simple as that."

"It's not something you can really prevent, Steve."

"If you'd tell me — "

"I need to go find Natasha," Sharon says, stepping out of his arms, out of his warmth. "I'll meet you in the room later."

She leaves him standing there, his arms limp at his sides, a defeated look on his face.

* * *

It's been 72 hours since she last slept now, and Sharon's fairly certain that 72 is going to turn into 96.

Their bed in Avengers Tower is comfortable, and even though Steve's warm, solid, real against her back, entirely _hers_ , her mind replays the previous night endlessly. Peggy, Peggy, Peggy, _Peggy_. Why couldn't it be any other woman? She'd be fine if he'd said Natasha (that's bullshit, Sharon knows, but still, it'd be better than Peggy) or any other girl's name. God, even her mother's name. Anything but _Peggy_.

"You're not asleep," Steve murmurs against her hair. She'd left the party before him, and was faking sleep when he joined her. He hadn't called her on it then, just slipped under the covers, pulled her against his chest, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. She still felt terrible for running earlier, for leaving him looking so hopeless. Peggy wouldn't leave Steve like that (it was thoughts like this that were currently keeping her awake).

"I didn't know you were still awake."

Steve hums. "I'm not falling asleep before you tonight."

The promise is short lived — Sharon has her terrible thoughts to keep her awake, and Steve falls asleep after two hours. He may not need as much sleep as regular people, but long periods of inactivity tend to knock him out without fail. She's not angry at him for it, but she is a little disappointed. The words are on the tip of her tongue, the explanation turning over in her mouth. She could just _tell_ him.

But then it happens. Again.

"Peggy."

This time, Sharon lets herself break.

* * *

So. That was fun. As always, please review because they make my day a million times better, and hopefully I'll have part two up soon for you.


	2. Chapter 2

So. Part two. I decided halfway through the first part that the second part had to be written in Steve's perspective. It gives the story a balance that I love and lets me explore both of their emotions without writing the same scenes. We've seen Sharon's devastation, now we'll see Steve's hopelessness and how he reacts to that. This story was meant to be a character exploration, a chance to see these two characters react to a situation that, in my opinion, isn't unreasonable for them, and I like to think I've accomplished this goal, and had a lot of fun on the way. I'd also like to thank you everyone for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel and the MCU. I own nothing.

* * *

Steve wakes to her crying.

The panic settles in immediately, because Sharon doesn't cry. Especially not like this. Large, painful sobs that have her entire body convulsing and unsteady gasps coming from her mouth. This is pain, despair, sadness — heartbreak.

He doesn't know what he did, just that he did.

"Sharon?" he asks, wrapping an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. "What's wrong?"

Wrong is understating everything, but Steve can't bring himself to voice the actual question: _What did I do?_ Wrong is generic, broad, a question that doesn't necessarily end with him taking the blame, and even though he wants to fix this, to fix her, he's afraid. Steve's always been terrible at saying the bold things, the things that actually matter. He's always honest, sure, but honesty isn't the same as the harsh truth, and even he's afraid of the harsh truth. Because the harsh truth is what hurts people. And while he doesn't like omission, he's familiar with it. It's why he didn't tell Tony about Bucky killing his parents, or ask Peggy for a dance when he had the opportunity. It's why he can't ask Sharon what he did.

He's afraid. He's helpless.

He hates all of this.

Love is complicated, has always been complicated. He'd never talked to girls before the serum, and after the only notable girl was Peggy, and their relationship wasn't typical in the slightest. He'd loved her, and knows that she'd loved him, but even now Steve couldn't say what would've happened if he hadn't gone into the ice. They would've had their dance, but what else? Would they have had a relationship? He remembers the interviews he'd seen of Peggy in the following years, had seen the way her eyes lit up whenever she referenced her husband, Daniel. It was like she came alive just by saying his name. Would she have picked Daniel if Steve had still been there? Would she have been as happy as she was?

It's a loaded question, an impossible question, and Steve doesn't try to answer it. Peggy was happy — that's what matters. They'd missed their chance but maybe it was for the best. She'd had Daniel and he now has Sharon.

Sharon, who's a runner when it comes to emotional matters, but as fierce as Peggy when it comes to an actual fight. Who's braver than she gives herself credit for, and funnier than she knows. Who can smile at him and make him dizzy, or cry and leave him completely lost. Who will gladly stuff a burger in her face than pick at a salad.

Sharon, who he loves.

Who is also still sobbing. Steve turns her over in his arms, letting her head rest on his chest and her tears soak his shirt. He hates this. All day he's felt helpless, wanting to make her feel better but not knowing how. It didn't help that she wouldn't tell him. If she did, he could stop doing it. Though he wasn't exactly comfortable with when the sobbing began. While he was asleep. Did she start crying because she felt that she could do it while he was asleep? Or was it something he said in his sleep?

Steve doesn't remember most of his dreams — or, rather, he purposely tries not to. The first few months out of the ice, all he could dream about was going into the ice, and reliving that every night was awful. Once those nightmares died down, his dreams became more memories of the past — Peggy, waiting for their dance, Bucky, falling from the train — always leaving Steve feeling like he'd let them down. So he'd started trying to not remember his dreams, thinking about something random when he woke up (most days it was Sharon) and trying not to remember whatever crazy thing he'd imagined. It made everything easier.

Except if his dreams are now the problem. Because he doesn't know what he's been dreaming about the past two nights, only that he's woken once to Sharon missing from their bed and the other to her sobbing uncontrollably. As his mind starts to imagine everything he could possibly say to her, Steve's left feeling helpless. Again.

He hates it.

* * *

It takes time, but Sharon does eventually calm down, though she doesn't fall asleep. He's fairly certain she thinks that he's fallen asleep, because after a while she moves to slip out of the covers. Steve doesn't let her go.

"Stay for a bit," Steve murmurs. "Try and sleep."

"I can't," Sharon says, her voice hoarse from crying.

"Sure you can. You can continue to lay here with me."

Sharon pushes herself away from him, shaking her head. "Not right now, Steve," she says. His heart fractures when she says his name. It's like the movies, when someone's trying to keep their composure, even as everything shatters around them, and then the person they love is there and they haven't given up on them but they're not sure they can move forward, either. "I need to go."

He doesn't fight her as she moves away this time, just stares at the ceiling as she leaves. There's a small, incredibly minute part of him that's glad she's gone, if only because it means he can move. He's used to energy moving through him constantly, but too much time in one position usually knocks him out, and he hasn't been able to move or sleep because of Sharon. He didn't want her to go, but now that she's gone, he can start asking questions.

"FRIDAY," Steve says, waiting for the protocol system to respond, "keep an eye on Sharon for me. Let me know if she tries to leave the Tower."

"Of course, Captain Rogers," FRIDAY answers, ever patient.

"And wake up Natasha. I don't need a knife thrown at my head when I walk in."

* * *

Natasha's waiting for him when he exits the elevator onto her floor.

"This couldn't wait until later?" Natasha asks as she slips around the couch, graceful as a lynx. A black robe is wrapped securely around her figure, and her eyes are dark and angry. Whatever he interrupted, he doesn't want to know.

"Sharon told you why she was upset," Steve says, forgoing the question.

"Yes." "What is it?" Steve asks, and he's surprised by how quickly his tone goes from demanding to desperate. _Only when it comes to Sharon_ , he thinks. "What happened? She's been acting weird all day and she hasn't told me a damn thing and I can't figure it out. Did I do something that upset her?"

"Yes," Nat says flatly.

Steve's heart leaps to his throat, and he suddenly feels overwhelmed. He'd known it was his fault, but it still hurts. There's a slight tremble to his voice when he asks, "What did I do?"

"Why are you here, Steve?" Nat asks instead, a silent reminder that it's Sharon's secret to tell, not hers. "It's seven in the morning."

"She was crying when I woke up."

Steve watches as Nat debates whether or not to tell him. Sharon and Nat were friends long before Steve started dating her — Nat had even suggested Sharon back when she was pretending to be Kate — and he knows there's a sacred bond between the two spies. Two different backgrounds, but the same job, the same tricks. But he and Nat are friends as well, share a history of close encounters and fighting side by side. It's a double edged sword — betray Sharon and tell Steve, betray Steve and don't — but Natasha's always been a master of playing both sides.

"It's something you said in your sleep," Nat says. She doesn't elaborate, because that would be revealing what's ultimately Sharon's secret, though it brings Steve's fears back into play. He doesn't remember his dreams, hasn't in a few years, and he's not about to start trying to remember them now.

But what could he possibly say to hurt Sharon that much? That he didn't love her? Did he keep reminding her that he wanted kids and a family even though she didn't? Or was he dreaming about the past?

His past has always been a shaky subject with Sharon. She knew the stories from Peggy and even a few from him, but explaining something that she would never experience herself was always a challenge. She could read about the war and his part in it, how they'd won and how many lives had been lost, but she'd never understand what it was like to live through it. She'd never understand how badly he'd wanted that fight, how it'd called to him like a destiny. And she'd never understand how he would've been completely content to never come out of the ice.

He'd lived a full life before. Living now was an extension he hadn't asked for.

And it made talking about the past difficult. How could he tell Sharon that he'd already lived a full, happy life, even before she'd entered it? How could he tell her that he would've been okay with dying, with never meeting her? That wasn't how love worked. People were supposed to feel like all their days had been building to this time with their significant other, and only after finding them could their lives be fulfilled. Yet he'd lived a full life long before Sharon was born. He couldn't give his past to her entirely, because he didn't know how to justify it. She'd never understand it. It was easier the way it was now, with his past belonging entirely to Bucky and Peggy.

Steve tries to hold it together even though he feels like he's just been stabbed in the heart.

"Peggy."

* * *

"Morning, Cap," Tony calls as Steve steps into the lab. They're nowhere near where they used to be — the phrases _Together_ and _So was I_ still ring in his head from time to time, reminding him of what he lost, even if it was all for Bucky — but they're coming back around. Little things, like greetings, have helped a lot, as has occasionally duking it out and drinking a bit afterwards.

It's a start.

"Tony," Steve says, sitting on one of the stools, far away from any of the hologram screens Tony's using. "I need your help."

"I'm assuming this has everything to do with my darling, faux baby sister?"

"It does."

Tony turns to him, giving Steve his undivided attention. "Do you know what you did?" he asks. "I'm not trying to pry, but it's always easier to figure out a solution when you know the problem. Especially with Sharon."

"I think I know," Steve says, focusing on not shifting his stance. He's always hated showing discomfort. "I think I said… something about Peggy in my sleep."

"Please tell me you didn't say, 'I love you, Peggy.'"

Steve clenches his jaw, trying to ignore the twitching muscle in his cheek. "I don't know. All I know is I said something in my sleep, and there aren't many things I can say asleep that will bother Sharon this much. But saying that would certainly do it."

"Shit," Tony says quietly. "Any chance you can prevent it?"

"How, Tony?" Steve asks, standing. He runs a hand through his hair and fights the urge to fully panic. "I don't even remember my dreams. I taught myself that because I kept having nightmares. I can't exactly switch it back on, and even if I could, I couldn't stop myself from talking in my sleep."

"Fair point," Tony says, moving between hologram screens. "Okay. Well, let's look at this objectively. Sharon hasn't run away yet — that's a huge point in your favor. It means she's willing to work it out. Also, she's not in zombie mode like she was after her parents death, so she's at least better than then. Downside is there's no telling how long it'll take for her to come around, and since she seems to be doing worse than yesterday, being around you isn't helping her come to terms with it."

"I'm not breaking up with her," Steve says and he can feel the panic rise like bile in his throat. "Never."

Tony has the good sense to look upset. "I'm not ordering you to, Steve," he says. "I'm just saying… consider it."

"No way," he says, pacing. "I can't break up with Sharon."

"Then let her break up with you."

"Do you hear yourself, Tony?" Steve asks, his mind flashing to another time when they were arguing about something much worse, with lasting consequences that changed the team. This time it feels more personal.

"I do," Tony says, nonchalantly. "I don't want you to break up with her, either. She loves you, and she's happier than I've seen her in years when she's around you. But I'm saying that if you can't break up with her, give her the option to break up with you." Tony pauses, his face contorting into the same hopeless expression Steve's felt all day. "It's what I did with Pepper. I couldn't break up with her, but she was miserable. I failed her, time and time again. I promised to stop and I didn't, and I knew I was upsetting her but I couldn't make myself order her away. So I let her walk away. It hurts like hell, but if it makes her happy… it's an option you need to consider, Steve."

"How do you know Pepper's happier now? How do you know Sharon would be? What if working it out made her happier instead?"

"I hope that's the case, Steve, I really do. But Sharon's miserable right this second, and I'm worried that if she stays around you then she'll keep getting worse. The breakup doesn't have to be permanent. It can just be a break."

 _This is what emptiness feels like_ , Steve thinks, staring blankly at Tony. There's no response that could argue the logic, nor is there any way to explain how terrible it leaves Steve feeling. It's like someone's scooped out all of his organs and only left him as a skeleton with a painfully hard heartbeat. Because it is an option. And even though he hates it, it's worth considering.

Tony claps him on the shoulder, his face mirroring Steve's own. "Remember, it's not the only option," he says. "You and Sharon aren't Pepper and I. You guys work in a completely different way. And Sharon's happy with you, happier than I've seen her be in a very long time. I don't want you guys to breakup, either, because I'm grateful for how happy you make her. I'd love it if Sharon was always happy. But she's miserable right now and all I'm saying is… consider it if all else fails."

Steve still feels like an echo as he says, "Thanks, Tony."

* * *

"I'm heading upstate for a few days," Sam says as Steve steps into the elevator, as if he'd been waiting for him. He probably had.

"Is that so?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're not doing it to avoid an awkward car ride, are you?"

"That's like eighty percent of why I am," Sam says, grinning. "The other twenty is Wanda, Rhodey, Vision, and I have been working on this flying attack and we'd like to work out the fine details before we show off."

"I like the initiative," Steve says, trying to smile. He's glad that the team is working together again, that they're rejoining despite the divide he and Tony created, but he wishes Sam would be joining them on the ride back. Sam always had the fine touch when it came to getting Sharon to talk. Now Steve was looking at a long, awkward car ride back to DC with his girlfriend.

"It'll be okay," Sam says, as if he were reading Steve's mind. "Sharon's not the same girl she was at the beginning. She's not a runner anymore, anyone can see that. You two will figure it out."

"What if we can't, Sam?" Steve asks. "She's not a runner, but she also won't talk to me about the situation. All I know is I'm hurting her without meaning to, and it's killing her, and that's killing me. What if I keep hurting her and she's never able to talk to me about it? What if it just gets worse?"

"Never knew you were the type to freak out about what ifs," Sam says, his voice oddly amused for the situation. Steve glares at him. "None of us know what will happen, Steve. What I do know is you two work. You've both got issues galore, but in the past year I've seen you guys work out some of those problems together. You two are good at that. You better each other. Some issues take time, but I have faith in you and Sharon."

"How is it you don't have a girlfriend?" Steve quips, standing. "Speeches like that, you'd have them all swooning."

"Don't make this about me right now," Sam says, grinning again. "We can solve that issue later."

"Thank you, Sam," he says sincerely, smiling a bit. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Take her to a burger joint," Sam calls as Steve steps onto the elevator. "You know how much Sharon loves those."

* * *

He feels like a stranger in his own apartment.

It's like the entire universe has stopped and everything is right and wrong at the exact same moment. There's music playing low in the background, an old jazz band that Steve loves, and that's normal for them to have something playing while they're home, yet it feels like putting a bandaid over a bullet hole. It's temporary and isn't going to work and _damn it_ this is the moment that influences the rest of their lives.

Steve's trying not to freak out.

The car ride back to DC wasn't as awkward as he'd been expecting. They hadn't talked much, but Sharon at least held his hand during the ride. He'd taken it as a sign of improvement. And when they'd stopped to eat at her favorite burger place, she'd grinned at him like she was the sun, and he'd felt so happy, so optimistic, that he wasn't sure he had a heart anymore. He couldn't even speak. He'd just smiled at her and thought, _this is normal_ , even though it wasn't supposed to be.

And now they were back in their apartment, trying to act normal, yet every action said they weren't okay. When Sharon was picking the music, she'd originally selected a rock group that she liked, but when a breakup song came on she'd nearly broken her foot to get the remote. And when Steve was unpacking, he'd frequently paused and held one of Sharon's shirts and tried not to think it could be the last time he'd put them in the drawers.

It was like they didn't know how to be Sharon and Steve anymore.

He tries not to take it as a bad omen.

* * *

It's two in the morning and he's almost finished with his fourth mission report when Sharon steps into the living room. She'd gone to bed a few hours earlier, and he'd planned on joining her when he was certain she'd be asleep, but each time he considered it, he remembered the crying and his thoughts derailed from there.

Now, she slips into the seat across from him at their kitchen table, her face an unreadable mask. He glances at her but doesn't dare speak. He's heard the phrase about the world balancing on a needle head before, but this is the first time Steve's actually felt it, and it's perhaps the worst feeling he's ever felt. Every breath feels dangerous, every twitch of the hand or blink of the eye could send everything tumbling down, and so he forces himself to stay silent and wait for her to speak.

It's a good half hour before she does.

"You said her name in your sleep."

"Peggy's?" Steve asks, his voice alert and terrified and knowing.

"Yes."

He watches Sharon's face crumble then, watches the years of training and distancing fail because for once she's in a situation too difficult to manage. He can feel his own face fall, can feel his heart sink low into his stomach, then further down into his toes. Everything drains from him — blood, passion, hope — pooling at his extremities, leaving him feeling heavy and sad. He's thought a million things of Sharon — that she's beautiful, selfless, courageous, bold, intelligent, reckless, fierce, funny — but he's always thought her most important quality was her strength. She held herself like she could carry the entire universe on her shoulders and not flinch, like she was as indestructible as the Hulk and dared anyone to test the theory. He knows it's not true, that she's riddled with as many insecurities as he is, but perhaps that's the best quality of all — her ability to be a solid pillar even when she doesn't feel like it.

She's shattering now.

The helplessness is back, and Steve can't help but wonder if the rest of his life will feel like this. If he'll always feel helpless because he hurt the person he loves most. He hates himself for it, but Steve considers the breakup option, if only because it could make Sharon happier in the long run. He'd never recover, never find someone like her again, but her happiness has always mattered most. He could throw himself into avenging, bring back his reckless habits.

Bucky would be pissed, but he couldn't blame Steve, either.

"Your uncle, Daniel," Steve starts, the words coming out in awkward pauses, "did Peggy… did she love him?"

He didn't think Sharon could look more upset or defeated than she already did, but another something slips from her face and he hates himself for it. He knows they won't be the same after this — the best he can hope for is that they'll be better, stronger, and the worst is that they won't be a they — but Steve's also terrified that any of his next words might be the last straw, where he loses Sharon because he's broken her too much.

"Yes," she murmurs, staring at the tabletop. "She loved him and he loved her and she also loved you. Fuck." Sharon stands, moving away from the chair blindly, the heels of her palms pressed to her eyes. " _Fuck_. Why are you doing this to me, Steve? First you say her name in your sleep and all I can think is that you want me to be her, which means that you're only with me because of her. Damn it."

"That's not true," Steve protests, albeit weakly.

"I can't keep doing this," Sharon says, unyielding. "I'm not _Sharon_ , I'm never _Sharon_. I'm always Peggy's niece, the Carter legacy. Fuck." She winds her fingers tightly through her hair. "I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot."

"What about this situation aren't you getting, Steve?" Sharon demands. "Nobody ever sees me without seeing Peggy, and I was the biggest fool in the universe for thinking that you, of all people, would see me instead of her. Did I forget you're Captain freaking America? You of all people have the goddamn right to look at me and think about Peggy. This is why I couldn't talk to you about it, because I can't blame you for it. I'm so stupid."

"You're right," Steve says when he's sure she's stopped, "sometimes I look at you and think of Peggy." He knows he's on dangerous terrain, knows that the harsh truth is lodged in his throat, and even though he hates it, hates that it's going to hurt her even more, he let's himself speak it.

Let her hear it, let her choose.

"When you're being particularly stubborn, I think about how stubborn Peggy was. And when we're in the middle of a fight and taking down bad people, I think about how you got your morals and fierceness from Peggy." He swears he can see Sharon's heart breaking as he speaks, not one solid, quick motion but an ongoing tumble that's killing him as much as it's killing her. "And yes, there have been times where I've almost called you Peggy because sometimes you act just like her and I forget. But that doesn't mean I don't see you, Sharon, and it doesn't mean I want you to be Peggy."

"That sounds like that's exactly what it means," she says, her voice thick.

"It doesn't," Steve says. "I loved Peggy, but she loved a different Steve. I'm not the Steve I was, Sharon, but everyone around me thinks I am. They think I'm always Captain America, that I've always been and always will be him. They don't know that I've changed. The guy Peggy knew, that's not me anymore. I don't think Peggy would like this new me."

"This new you wouldn't exist if you hadn't gone under the ice. She would've had the same Steve she had during the war."

Steve shakes his head. "I don't think so," he says, his voice quiet from the truth he could never admit to himself. "I can't imagine a life without war, Sharon. I'm always looking for the next fight, the next mission. If I hadn't gone under, I would've seen the war come to an end and then what? I don't think I could've lived without it. The war meant everything to me. It was a chance for me to prove myself, and all it's proven is that there's no Steve Rogers or Captain America without a war.

"Peggy moved on, and I'm glad she did," he continues. "She deserved a normal life after the war, and as much as I wish I'd gotten my dance with her, I don't think we would've lasted. She deserved more than a life of fighting." _Give her the option to walk away_. "And so do you."

Sharon was staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "What are you saying, Steve?"

"I'm saying," he began, his mouth drying and his heart seizing, "I'll understand if you want to… walk away from this."

"Are you breaking up with me?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm just — I'm giving you the option."

"You're giving me the option. To break up with you."

"Exactly."

He isn't sure how much time passes, only that it does, and each moment is another one he'll never recover from and _God, this hurts_. Sharon's not even looking at him — she's focused entirely on her hands, which are splayed across the table like they could tell her secrets about the future. They can't.

"I'm going to ignore that idea for now," Sharon says eventually, still staring on her hands, "and focus on the other issue. You don't want me to be Peggy?"

"We don't get to choose who we remind people of in our line of work, Sharon," he says instead. "Nobody sees me without seeing Captain America. Nobody sees Tony without seeing Iron Man. Unfortunately, nobody sees you without seeing Peggy. But that's not a bad thing, and it doesn't mean I want you to be Peggy, either." He risks leaning across the table and folding her hand in his. She doesn't pull away. "I want you to be Sharon, which means being a mix of like and unlike Peggy."

"That still sounds like you want me to be here," Sharon says, but she sounds more like herself now. Almost happy.

"Like I said, if you were her, you wouldn't like this new me."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not. Because I like you."

Steve eyes her, trying to see if her improved mood is ready for his teasing. He tries. "Last I checked, you loved me."

"You're such a romantic," Sharon teases, and it's the first smile he's seen in two days that's been real and meant for him (because the grin at the burger joint was definitely dedicated to the burgers). "It's kind of nauseating."

Steve raises an eyebrow, waiting.

"Who gave you the breakup idea anyway?" Sharon asks, circling around the table to Steve. "Was it Tony? It sounds like a Tony thing. I might kill him for almost giving me a heart attack. And try not to say his name in your sleep. I won't recover from that."

Steve laughs outright at that, tugging Sharon into his arms and kissing her. He doesn't feel whole yet, and he knows she doesn't either, but they'll bounce back, and they'll be better from it. Stronger. Happier.

Together.

* * *

So. That's that. Ending this was really difficult, but I'm glad with how it turned out. And thank you all again for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following!


End file.
